


Boots On

by write_light



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boots - Freeform, Fetish, M/M, Underwear Kink, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-10
Updated: 2010-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_light/pseuds/write_light





	Boots On

In his mind's eye, Dean was just a few inches further forward, sunk into Sam's body, head inside Sam's head, heart pounding next to his, their bodies joined. His hips moved of their own accord now, his brain and Sam's body in perfect agreement about what they needed.

The bed Sam had braced his foot on was sliding a fraction of an inch away with every thrust Dean made. Sam exhaled loudly in time with Dean's thrusting, inhaled just as deeply, and the rush filled his head with lights, adding to the pulses of his brother's cock inside him, the hands on his nipples, the soft murmur in his ear as Dean lost the ability to form words.

When the bed slid beyond the reach of even Sam's long limbs, Dean's hand was there; he held Sam's leg up. His thigh was shaking, slippery with sweat, muscled and tense, everything that Dean liked, everything that made him want to fuck Sam from morning to night and back again.

Sam's cock, with a little help from Dean, had been let out of the jockstrap he still wore, and Sam stroked himself, feeling the cool air from the AC work its way around his head and shoulders as his balls tightened.

Dean, boots on, jeans around his ankles, wanted in, deeper. He felt his boot kick against Sam's, as though he could step forward and be inside, just _be_ Sam.

He'd made Sam put the boots on, and leave the jockstrap in place because that's what his cock told him it needed, to fuck Sam in his damned sexy ass in that damned sexy piece of clothing, nothing but that, and the boots. He hadn't said "damned sexy ass," he thought, or he hoped he hadn't. "I need it Sam, right here, right now, boots on." That sounded more like him.

This had all started a few weeks before, when they'd been overpowered by a coven of witches, tossed in the trunk of a car, and driven to a remote ritual location. What Dean most recalled, apart from the bloodsoaked remains they'd left behind, was the fact that they'd been tossed in on top of each other crossways, so he got a boot to the face, and it stayed there for much to the ride, no matter how they tried to move. Sam's boots were brand new charcoal grey ones that made Sam look ridiculously hot and another foot taller. That Sam had adopted a preference for boots in the last few years Dean attributed to his influence alone.

Where it actually started was over by the table in the motel where Dean was researching their case, while Sam went running to clear his head of the coven killings. When Sam came back, nearly two hours later, Dean didn't seem worried.

"How was it? Ready to kill more witches now?" he asked.

"I just needed to get out. These motels we stay in... they stink."

"Hey, I shower," said Dean, gesturing to his freshly washed body, clad only in jeans and boots and an unbuttoned shirt. "Besides, it's sort of a comforting smell, don't you think?"

Sam wrinkled his nose.

"Well, I think it is. Smells like you."

Sam was halfway to the shower, but he heard that one. He stopped and turned back.

"Dean, *I* stink."

Dean was absorbed with whatever was on the computer, and would deny his last statement if necessary.

Sam pulled off his shirt and tossed it at Dean, who caught it and looked over at his brother for the first time; the smell on the shirt was rank, but it was home. Sam dropped his sweatpants and Dean's jaw hit the floor at about the same time. He stepped out of them, wearing only a black jockstrap, taut lines under each cheek and a full pouch in front that was ringed with dark hairs peeking out.

"Dean? Dean??" Sam was concerned that Dean had lost the ability to move, his jaw slack.

"Where did you get that when?" Dean blurted out, not looking at Sam's face any longer.

"Couple of weeks ago, why?"

"Just never saw it I guess." Dean's voice was dropping, deeper and softer.

"Too thongy?"

"No, it's fuckin' hot, Sam" came out in a husky whisper that Sam recognized.

Sam could sense Dean's train of thought, but he wasn't ready for "Put your boots on first."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it, Sam."

And then Dean was turning him around, his hands everywhere, his face in Sam's ass, tracing the jockstrap with his tongue.

Dean had his own pants down around his boots and his cock sprang up as soon as his black briefs were around his ankles. Sam put his foot up on the corner of the bed, boot and all, and Dean's cock bounced and dribbled precum like it was their first fuck.

He found Sam's hole and slid in slowly, the way Sam liked, but beyond that moment, he wasn't himself, or even in charge of what they were doing. Dean felt Sam's cock straining at the edge of the fabric, pushing the jockstrap away from his body, and slid his hand in there, into that gap, through the damp, sweaty hair and around the heavy balls, warm in his hand, then up to the base of Sam's cock, thick between his fingers.

Sam shuddered. Dean finally pulled Sam's cock free of the strap, all the time fucking harder and deeper.


End file.
